Sacrifice

Sintas wounded the last time he'd seen her—the very last time. It had seemed the right decision then.

And you wonder why your daughter and granddaughter tried to kill you.

Fett stood to one side of the hatch. His sensors showed him two shapes on the ramp, one humanoid and one animal whose form wasn't clearly defined. He counted to three and came out, blaster and flamethrower aimed.

Mirta, minus helmet, was in the tight headlock of a Mandalorian in gray armor, and a large gold-furred animal had its huge jaws locked around her leg, trailing a curtain of drool. It wasn't attacking: it was frozen, pinning her down—and stinking.

And she didn't look scared. Just embarrassed.

Fett stared down the barrel of a custom Verpine rifle aimed one-handed, and understood why he'd heard no blasterfire when the speeder bikes dropped from the air. Verpines were silent.

"Well, well . . . ," said the Mandalorian in gray armor. He really did have a very fine pair of gray leather gloves. "It's little Bob'ika.

Last time we met, my brother was shoving your head down the 'freshers to teach you some manners. What do you want me for, ner vod?"

GALACTIC ALLIANCE GUARD BRIEFING ROOM, GAG HQ, CORUSCANT

Ben was glad to be back among people he trusted. The sea of black uniforms might have been a sinister sight to

some people, but to him they felt like a brotherhood—like family.

He was in that rare position of being young enough to be treated like one of the troopers despite his officer status, and he liked that. The sense of camaraderie and the knowledge that everyone watched everyone else's